


Tomorrow

by nextfromsaturn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Drabble, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Billy Hargrove, Homophobic Language, M/M, One Shot, Period-Typical Homophobia, This is my first piece so please be kind, it is one word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextfromsaturn/pseuds/nextfromsaturn
Summary: Sitting atop the Camaro, they talk about the what-if of tomorrow.





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> As suggested by the tags, this is the first piece I have ever uploaded and really taken time on. Why Harringrove was the ship to really get me going, idk but here we are. It's kinda shite, out of character, and wholly too dramatic, but I still like it.
> 
> Update 5/20/20: I sorta rewrote it so there weren't as many grammatical errors but ended up reworking it so it's more cohesive. Hope you still like it.

“We could just go. Just leave this whole town in the rearview.” Steve says with too much bravado, waving his hand as if wiping the whole town away from their perch on the Camaro’s trunk. The night air at the quarry always had this effect on him. Like he could finally see the stars he was reaching for.

“Yeah, with our middle fingers waving goodbye to the wind,” Billy laughs as he raises his hand to demonstrate the gesture. Steve’s eyes soften as he glances at that million-watt smile.

Steve turns to smile at Billy, reaching out to wrap his arms around his waist, inching their bodies closer. “You know…,” he almost whispers into Billy’s shoulder while he tries to hide his insecurity in the cotton found there. “We really could...just go,” he says too softly to pack any meaning into it.

With a soft chuckle, Billy rests his hand over Steve’s, rubbing softly. “Yeah, drive ‘til we hit the coast, get a place on the beach. I can teach you to surf and we’ll get a dog and name ‘em Buster,” he barely manages to get the words out before he dissolves into giggles. His eyes meet Steve’s affronted stare with a playful glint.

Steve let his arms go lax, backing away far enough to square his gaze on Billy. ”Are you making fun of me?” he says through clenched teeth as he pinches Billy’s ribs. Billy slides off the trunk to get out of Steve’s reach holding his side as his giggles spur into outright laughter. “I’m serious,” Steve whines.

“Yeah,” Billy comes around to stand in front of Steve,”I know.” He’s nestled between Steve’s legs as he brings up his hands to cradle Steve’s face. With kindness in his eyes and a soft tone he says, “we don’t have to name ‘em Buster,” as his face splits into a shit-eating smile. Earning him a half-hearted shove to his chest.

“I’m actually serious,” Steve levels his tone, bringing his hand to gently rest at Billy’s waist. “I want a life with you. A real life. Like white picket fences and dogs and a cat and neighborhood associations that hate us ‘cause we play music too loud and you’re always walking around without a shirt on and, and,” clenching his hands into fists in Billy’s t-shirt, “ you know, a life.” Steve lifts his gaze from where it lingered on Billy’s chest to meet a stoney stare, “ Together.” Steve hadn’t noticed when Billy’s hands had fallen away, but they sat gently at the base of his neck, a thumb stroking small circles.

“You-” cutting himself off, his gaze shifting from apprehension to confusion to almost anger as he spits out, “You can’t be serious.” Pulling away completely as he continued, “Why are you bringing this up now? We are just dickin’ around.” He’s pacing the gravel, kicking up dust, and running his hand through his hair.

Steve slides off the trunk to reach for Billy, but as his arms raise towards him, Billy jerks away to turn towards the open quarry. With his hands on his hips and squared shoulders, Steve can see the resemblance to Neil, cold and distant.

”We don’t get that, remember?” Billy rubs at the bridge of his nose where a scowl is etching its way into his brow. “We get none of that,” wiping around to round on Steve, “--wh-why are you even bringing this up now anyway?” accusation thick in his tone. “It’s not like you’re actually serious.” His features soften with what Steve can only describe as disappointment. “We’d need money for that,” Billy begins to rub his chin and pace again, “and I’m guessing daddy,” rounding a sneer at Steve, ” isn’t too keen on giving you any so you can run off with your faggot boyfriend.”

Steve feels himself start to slouch his shoulders forward and diminish his height under Billy’s sneer. “I’d thought that you’d’ve wanted to go--with me,” he says with a shrug. His eyes downcast, arms loosely wrapped around himself.

“Well--” Billy had no way of ending that sentence, just an emphatic raise of his arms only to let them fall at his sides. Letting out a long suffering sigh, “Let’s just get you home,” he throws over his shoulder as he makes his way to the driver’s door. Steve pushes away from the trunk as the Camaro roars to life.

The ride back into town was filled with smoke as Billy’s nerves got the better of him. Strumming his finger too quickly to match the music softly drifting from the radio. He dragged on his third cigarette to the hilt.

“I’m sorry.” It came out hollow and almost insincere, just as Billy was lighting another cigarette. “I really thought that you’d want this--,” Steve’s gaze is fixed on his hands in his lap. “I thought we could do it together and really do it right.” Shaking his head, he continues, “maybe not the picket fences and nosy neighbors but something, anything… as long as it’s with you.” He risks a glance up to gauge Billy’s reaction.

Blowing smoke out of the window as he sighs, Billy’s voice is strained but no longer guarded, ”It’s not that.” He rubs at his eyebrow with too much force, ”It’s not that I don’t want that, or you, or us.” He lowers his hand to rest his still burning cigarette on the steering wheel. “I just hate,” this he punctuates with a sudden open-handed hit to the top of the steering wheel, “seeing that face,” he points straight between Steve’s eyes with the cigarette pinched between his fingers. “That disappointed, kicked puppy look you get when you wake up to how cruel the world is.

”We’re not like them, Steve. You think a neighborhood association won’t catch on to us?” Billy dramatically asked the question, as if he’s on one of those over pronounced ESL tapes. “Do you really think Suzy Homemaker and Dick Jones are going to let two faggots shack up on their block?” He pauses, almost expecting an answer. “No. Do you think we’d be able to trust them if they did?” his voice softens at the end.

Outraged, Steve fired back, “How cruel  _ the world _ is?” Steve blanches at Billy. “I wasn’t talking to  _ the world _ back there. I was talking to  _ you _ . I get that you don’t want all that and that we just don’t want the same things, but don’t go blaming  _ the world _ for my disappointed face when you’re the asshole that put it there.” Steve feels ridiculous. He’s acting like a jilted girl. Turning towards the window to hide the angry flush climbing up from his chest, he tries to [soften his tone], “just because we don’t have those things  _ right now _ doesn’t mean things can’t change.” Turing back to face Billy,”doesn’t mean  _ we _ ,” gesturing between the two of them, “can’t change things for the better.”

The atmosphere is thick and not only with smoke. Swerving to pull the car over, Billy brings them to an abrupt stop under the Welcome To Hakins sign. Billy stormed out of the car, only caring enough to jam it into park. Steve scrambles out after him as Billy walks down the road. Hearing Steve’s approaching steps, Billy stops. “Do you really wa-want, do you really think-- with me?”

Steve only managed to catch the tail end, but knew not to push him any further. He slowly walked up behind him, meshing their bodies together as he wrapped his arms around Billy’s chest from behind. With his lips pressed gently to his spine, Steve gave a simple, “Yes.”

Turning in Steve’s grasp, Billy was soft. No hard lines or hard muscles to protect him. Just these thin, spindly arms wrapped around him. 


End file.
